The Winter Lady
by FangirlWritesThings
Summary: Feyre and Rhysand become allies with someone cold and calculating, and she ends up to be more different than they both thought... Feysand, all those ships, etc. Feyre lives w Rhys in Velaris now.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello!**

 **So this is my first ACOTAR/ACOMAF fanfic so please don't be mad if it's crap! I hope it's still good!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Feyre and Rhysand trudged through the thickened snow. It was peak winter season, which meant it was all the less convenient for them to travel in the Winter Court.

The one and true reason they had actually intended to visit the High Lady of the Winter Court is because while she is cold, she is also extremely powerful.. for her age. Her father and family had just recently been slaughtered, and she had just taken to the throne like it was there for her sole existence. Nobody actually knew whether she was affected in any way by these staggering happenings, and no one dare to ask. Feyre did have to admit, for being younger than Rhys, yet leading an entire court by herself, it was a truly impressive sight. Almost enough so that Feyre often wondered what he saw in her. Beauty? Grace? She better not kid herself; first, Rhysand was her mate, second, the High Lady of the Winter Court was barely 13. While Rhysand was often seen as bastard by her, pedophilia was most definitely not in his agenda.

Through the thick hazes of snow, Feyre spotted something. Advanced Faerie vision, she thought, was definitely one of the things she did not regret. It helped her in every way she could imagine. Now, it also helped her. She pointed her gloved fingers to the looming silhouette in the distance, and beside her, Rhysand nodded. Then, he spread his dark wings, which made him look as if he were a dark angel, and picked her up, soaring through the biting winds.

Feyre did end up regretting that she didn't cover her face any further. The biting wind made her cheeks turn a bright pink, almost to a point of her being unable to feel them. Her thin nose had already frozen up at least half and hour ago, so she preferred not to bother with that anymore. Although, she was almost quite certain her nose was turning blue.

The silhouette, which had started out small, began forming itself into a larger structure, and instead of it just being a silhouette, it began to show itself clearer; a white-silver castle, seen like no other, spread out in front of them. Icicles hung as decoration and accenting and no window was open, each drawn shut and the curtains hiding whatever she may have been able to view. The snowflakes danced and glimmered in the structure's reflection, and Rhys began plunging down, down towards the frosted ground again, where walking was nearing impossible and snow was stacking further up.

They landed, to find at least half a dozen of guards, faces impassive, awaiting them already. _Perhaps Rhysand had already notified them ahead_ , Feyre thought, and also straightened her face into a mask. Two of the guards stepped forward and glanced at them expectantly.

During this, Feyre had time to view them up close through the gusting winds. They had white and pale blue uniforms, their armour sharp like icicles. Their helmets were also milky white, and they each held a crystal staff with a unique snowflake etched on the top. In their own way, they were each unique. Rhys pushed her forward gently, encouragingly, and Feyre's numb feet began to move forward.

The guards had led them inside, where Feyre relished the warmth she felt, although she also felt the absence of any fireplace. How the High Lady warmed the place, she wondered, was probably a secret. The hallways were silver, simple-minded, with several doorways. Nothing special edged towards Feyre. It was almost as if this place was... isolated.

Again, the same two guards pushed open a larger, more intricate set of doors, beckoning the two occupants of the Night Court forward. Feyre hesitated slightly, then relaxed; if Rhysand could trust this girl, then she would also learn to. It couldn't be that difficult.. right?

The next room was far larger than she had expected.

The ceiling seemed endless, the only distinguishable detail of it actually having an end a large, snowflake chandelier attached to said ceiling. Large, translucent columns were lined up at the sides of the room, each leading up further to the dais. The dais was large, silver, with a throne made of crystallised glass sitting in the exact middle. An extremely enormous and detailed snowflake hung above that throne, and Feyre thought of the sight so intimidating, she was almost afraid to step forward.

Then she remembered.

 _I am Feyre Cursebreaker._

 _I have been Turned from mortal to immortal- High Fae._

 _I have defeated Amarantha's wrath of evil._

 _I have found myself from crumbling apart._

 _I can do this._

She continued nearing, and also saw that someone had been occupying the throne - the High Lady of the Winter Court.

Feyre froze in her tracks to drink in her sight. The girl was.. young. Her face was pale, and immaculate, not a single feature out of place. Her eyes were large and extremely light blue, almost white. Her hair was silver-blonde, almost blue at the tips. She wore a long and exquisite gown, with thin sleeves that were traced by snowflakes. The waist was cinched in, and the skirt flowed freely. If Feyre was to be honest, she'd say that she's never seen anyone like her before. It was like standing before a goddess. Except this goddess was... exceptionally young.

Rhysand also followed Feyre's gaze, and when he did, he did a small bow. Of simple, polite respect _He probably doesn't respect her deeply_ , she thought, _he_ _probably just respects her like any other High Lord or Lady._

Feyre also bowed, and the High Lady stood. All her guards went into formation, and a few left the throne room. Altogether, everything was deserted. The High Lady glanced at Feyre and Rhysand, and nodded. Both Feyre and Rhys then stood, Rhysand's dark and confident aura oozing from him. The younger female glanced down at him with a small smirk etching across her cupid's bow lips, which were coloured a soft sky-blue. Then, she stepped forward a bit, now at the edge of the shimmering dais. Rhysand spoke.

"Hello, High Lady," he said, his velvety voice blooming across the empty room. She did not move. "We thank you for kindly accepting our invitation."

The High Lady blinked this time, her soft, waist-length curls swinging in a newfound breeze. "I did not _accept_ anything," she replied, her voice sounding harsh. She was like a beautiful arrow, gorgeous but... deadly. "I offered you to propose your plans." Rhysand blinked in return at this, but straightened himself soon.

"Of course," he said.

"Now," she skimmed her eyes over Feyre, who was still shell-shocked and silent. "What is it you offer? Do not waste my time."

Rhysand seemed clearly unfazed by the coolness of her tone. _Of course_ , Feyre thought. _He was used to this. He **does** this._ Feyre now averted her eyes from Rhys and instead dared continued looking at the High Lady, who was still standing expectantly.

"We have come to take request of your armies," he began. "And an alliance." He looked back up at the girl. Was she really a girl? She was young, yes, but... she acted like a grown woman. Perhaps it would be better so, since she had an entire court to rule.

The High Lady raised her nose, expression, however, unreadable. Then, she softly replied, "An alliance with the High Lord of the Night Court, hm?" She glanced at Feyre and _tsk_ ed. "And an extremely powerful Fae. High Lady, I take?" Feyre was almost shocked that this High Lady already knew so much. Did word travel fast? She put her ice-cold eyes back on Rhysand. "Would you propose, pray tell, _why_ you need my troops to assist you?"

Rhysand seemed prepared to answer, as he immediately replied, "Your troops are very strong, their ice-powers giving us certain... advantages. And I will assume an alliance with an extremely experienced - and powerful, I might add - High Lord will only benefit the Winter Court."

The High Lady, in return, put a hand to her chin, as if she were considering this. "That it may," she muttered. Then, she lowered her hand. "But it will also cause a rift between some courts that my people are near. Is it worth the risk?"

"Illyrian fighters can be stationed at the borders," Rhys answered smoothly. "You have our word."

She peeked at him through her thick, pale eyelashes. "... Very well, then. You may have an alliance and troops. But dare to break your word, High Lord... it will not end as you may like it to." She pointedly glanced at his wings. Rhys just grinned.

"Thank you, High Lady," he replied politely, then grabbed Feyre and turned around, beginning to waltz out of the throne room.

* * *

" _That_ was the High Lady of the Winter Court?" Feyre demanded as soon as they were outside. They had decided on walking, seeing as spies may still be hiding out. Feyre doubted it, but Rhys refused to take any risks or chances.

"It is, indeed." He replied to her, not even sparing her a glance.

"Why is she so... _young_?" Feyre countered, almost slowing down to a stop. Rhysand sighed, and turned to Feyre.

"I told you, her family was just recently murdered. Out of vengeance, or something else, no one knows. Aelienora had to take the throne, as she's the only legible heir."

Feyre continued walking in her thick, furry winter boots. "Her name's Aelienora?" She inquired, trying to keep pace with Rhys' long strides. It was the one thing that irritated Feyre the most; Rhysand's inability to walk slowly. Whether it was the long, slender legs or just trying to tease Feyre, she wasn't sure. She'd rather not ask, in case it gave him ideas.

"Yes, Aelienora, High Lady of the Winter Court. Extremely strong with her powers. Armies of hers have been stronger since the start of her reign," Rhys informed helpfully, continuing not to glance back at her. He was fixated at the road ahead of him.

Their journey, however, was interrupted when an ash arrow jabbed the snow only two feet in front of them. Rhysand cursed, and Feyre pulled out her bow, suspiciously glancing around to see who - or what - had done this. Her question, however, was answered when a large _thunk_ resounded and Lucien and two other Spring Court people landed in front of them. Feyre almost let a snarl echo through her, a snarl of rage, a demand of what the hell they were doing here. Rhys sensed her white-hot rage and put a soothing hand on her gloved wrist. Feyre almost immediately released some tension, and sent a _thank you_ down the mental bonds. Her mating bonds.

Lucien began coming a bit closer, and Feyre drew her first arrow. It was also ashen, but she was not afraid to shoot it should Lucien dare come closer. And she knew that Lucien also knew that. He stopped briskly in his tracks, and sighed deeply. "Feyre," he called. He was almost shocked. Well, at least he looked like it. There was something akin to disbelief etched across his face. Feyre wasn't exactly surprised; her escaping the Spring Court, to be found leaving the Winter Court, would most likely confuse some.

The two men began coming closer as well, boldly stepping forward, when Feyre aimed her arrow at one of them. They stopped. "Don't come any closer," she seethed, and glanced at Rhys. He too seemed to be slightly irritated, but she decided against dwelling on it. Anyone in his place would most likely be irritated.

"Feyre, we've been looking for you," Lucien breathed, reaching a pleading hand out. "Tamlin has been."

Feyre almost let her feral growl slip, but instead replied, "Tamlin does not care about me," coldly, as if she's adapted the High Lady's personality. When she said those words, the air felt colder and the breeze picked up again.

Lucien looked almost desperate. It partially disgusted her. That feigned desperation that played on his face, it disgusted her. Tamlin was a tool, much more a useless one. She'd probably never forgive him for letting her rot away in the manor.

"Feyre, please," Lucien tried again, his two accomplices standing still, however their weapons ready to be drawn. Lucien stopped pleading, however, when he saw something behind her. Feyre also turned to see what he was gaping at.

Behind her, the High Lady was floating towards them, small gushes of ice keeping her levitated. This time, a dozen guards walked in formation beside her, and the High Lady's gorgeous face had turned into pure, ice-cold rage, with no effort to conceal it. She landed next to Feyre, and stepped closer.

" _What_ ," she spat. "Are people of the Spring Court doing here?" She cocked her delicate nose towards the three men in front of her, her eyes glittering in angry sparks. Those eyes... those eyes, Feyre thought, reminded her of Nesta's stormy blue-grey ones.

"Forgive me, my Lady," Lucien began, but was cut off when the young woman waved her hand.

"I will do _no such thing_."

"We have been sent to retrieve her," he pointed at Feyre with the tip of his sword.

That's when something that Feyre had never seen before happened. The sword began growing frost, immaculate designs, then splintered into shards, scattering in the snow. Lucien gaped at it in shock, then back at the High Lady.

"I do not _care_ what your purposes are," she hissed. "And I gave you no permission to occupy _my_ lands." Then, she nodded at the guards, who grabbed each man who stood. They kneeled Lucien down, who was protesting a slight bit, while Feyre just stared in amazement.

She was _so young_. She was not even of age, could not bear children yet, but.. here she stood, ruling the Winter Court and its people herself. She ruled the land without hesitation. She looked unafraid of anything in her way. She was... strong and resilient.

 _That she is,_ Rhysand's voice echoed down the bond, and Feyre gave him a look to shut up. He simply smirked, and raised an eyebrow.

In slow, yet purposeful strides, the High Lady of the Winter Court neared Lucien, who had ceased his protests, instead focusing on her. When she stood in front of him, she glared viciously. "Filth," she snapped. "Bothersome, idiotic filth." She put her thin, long fingers around his neck, and he gasped, even though her grip was loose. But something white began appearing on his already-pale neck, and he seemed to be gasping for air.

She muttered slowly, but the words were full of venom. "I would kill you right now," she said, then let go of his neck. Feyre almost threw up at the sight. His neck was blue, purple, grey and white, and small, delicate tips of icicles decorated the gruesome pattern. She stepped back.

"However, given your position as the High Lord of the Spring Court's lap dog and son of the Autumn Court, I will spare myself the quarrel and release you. But return to these lands-" she gave a murderous glare in his direction again - "and I will see to it that you shall be put up as my lap dog for a while, before I rid of you. Painfully."

She turned to the guards and waved her small hand again. They released the three men, and Lucien's hands flew to his neck, holding it, desperately trying to soothe it without a single hope. Then, the High Lady turned to Feyre and Rhysand.

"As your ally, I will protect you on my lands," she said, then glanced towards the horizon. With another flick of her wrist, she turned to them. "The wards are down. Winnow back to Velaris. It is only for your safety, and my people's."

Rhys gave an appreciative glance to the girl, then held Feyre. "Let's go home," he mumbled, then winnowed them both back to home. Where she belonged.

She was still grateful for the High Lady.

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 **Well, that's the first chapter!**

 **Follow, fave and review for more! :3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! So I decided to add another chapter to this story, you know, because LIFE. Also, I had some nice reviews... :)**

 **You know what, just enjoy the story... :)**

* * *

When Feyre and Rhysand returned to the town house, Mor, Amren and Azriel plunged upon them, having expectantly waited for the past hours. In fact, the second Rhys had winnowed them inside, the before silent room launched into chaos.

"You're back!"

"How was it?"

"Where have you _been_?"

Rhysand put a swift and slender hand up to silence his friends. Even though Amren, who usually disliked orders even as a 3rd in command, huffed, before silencing herself and playing nice. When this happened, Mor simply gestured to the seats, and everyone sat. Feyre and Rhys on the main couch, Azriel leaning onto a cabinet, Mor and Amren draped over one armchair each. The soft leather dug into Feyre's now uncovered fingertips.

"Well," Mor began, casting a concerned look to her cousin. "What happened?"

So Rhysand explained. Everyone was still and attentive while he talked, and when he finished, several pairs of wide eyes landed on both Feyre and him. Feyre felt uncomfortable, however because one, she did not particularly enjoy all eyes on her and two, Lucien.

Lucien had looked so far in disbelief when he had seen her. But she knew better than that. It was fake. All fake. The despair, the shock, the misery... all of it was fake. Tamlin had been a tool, much more a useless one. He had kept her to rot in the manor. The place where she'd throw her guts up at night, the place where she felt like she didn't belong, the place where she'd been cooped up with Ianthe, a treacherous snake who sold her sisters out to the King of Hybern... she couldn't possibly even _dream_ of ever wanting to go back, much less trust anyone there.

It was Amren who broke the silence this time. "So what do we do now?"

Rhysand shrugged, then turned to Azriel. "We need Illyrian warriors stationed at the wards near the Winter Court," he said, pausing to ensure that Azriel was taking note. "We should also make sure we receive the Winter Court's soldiers soon. Have a few people meet them at the borders of the Night Court. They will winnow here."

Feyre turned to Rhys in disbelief. "They can winnow?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Well," Rhysand conceded. "Most people from the Winter Court can't. But the High Lady has extraordinary powers, thus she can winnow. She can also winnow others, meaning less work for her."

Feyre drank the information in, then placed her hands neatly in her lap. "Very well."

"Very _well_?!" Mor almost shrieked, face still twisted with incredulity. "Members of the Spring Court attacked you and you say _very well_?" She turned to her cousin, eyes glittering with rage.

"Tell me you're gonna do something about it." Mor looked like she was _pleading_. Mor hardly ever begged for anyone. It must've clearly gotten to her.

Rhysand put a thin hand to his clean-shaven chin in thought, his violet eyes almost lidded away from sight. Then, he glanced back up, eyes filled with nothing but their violet irises, their pupils and their whites. No emotions portrayed at all. "I can't."

" _What_?" Mor seethed, raising an eyebrow herself now, face twisted in anger.

"I said," Rhys replied patiently, his voice barely above a murmur. "I can't do anything about it-"

" _Pray_ tell _why_ ," Mor snapped back, crossing her arms over her chest, her voice having raised an octave.

"So far," Rhys retorted calmly. "You interrupted me. Yes, she's the High Lady of the Night Court, but if they haven't actually attacked her on _our_ premises, I can't do anything. I leave the High Lady of the Winter Court in charge of that."

Mor huffed irritatedly, blowing a single golden strand out of her face that escaped her messy ponytail. Then, Rhys turned to Feyre, eyes softening considerably.

"However," he spoke quietly. "Should they do something like that again, they won't walk out alive."

Feyre nodded, putting a hand on Rhys'. This, she thought, felt like home.

* * *

 _The Winter Court_

Aelienora sashayed back into the throne room, ignoring the looks passing guards gave her. She was livid that members of the Spring Court had even _dared_ to enter the Winter Court without her consent. It made her cold rage fizzle at the thought that they might do it again.

When she burst through the ice doors, all guards stood up a bit straighter, but she refused to acknowledge that now. She was angry, she was a freezing spitfire, she wouldn't let her court be treated like this. She stalked to the dais, where her royal advisor, Oriana, stood expectantly, awaiting her. Oriana wore a rather simple dress; an elegant, grey chiffon dress with a crystallised snowflake belt. Her hair was hazel-brown, a colour Aelienora had always liked, and it was currently pinned up with simple pins of snowflakes. She stood before her, before Oriana gave a small, but respectful, curtsy.

"Hello, madam," her blooming voice softly spoke. One thing that was different between her and Oriana was that Oriana was already a grown Fae; she wasn't. "I take business with the Night Court went as planned?"

Aelienora composed herself, before fixing her scowl into a neutral expression. "It did and it did not," she simply stated.

"Oh? What happened, my Lady?" Oriana asked, gently guiding Aelionora to the large, well-structured throne.

"Business went well," she replied. "However there were unwanted visitors."

"Nymph scouts?" Oriana asked, the worry clear in her voice.

"No," she said, giving her advisor an assuring look. "Members of the Spring Court." She settled her hands into her lap, coldly glancing ahead.

"What?" Oriana's voice was incredulous. She also sounded rather disgusted. "What are those filths doing in the Winter Court?"

Aelienora discussed with herself whether she should tell. Oriana was her royal advisor, yes, but should she really go around telling people about the incident? If word goes out, the citizens will begin worrying and being anxious, and when an alliance was to be with the Night Court, she did not want to stress about calming others around her while she sorts through the treaties and papers. She better hope that Oriana wouldn't tell, then.

"They wanted the girl," she replied absentmindedly, stroking the silk-and-leather skirt. "Feyre." She emphasised the syllables in the girl's name, _Fay-ruh_.

Oriana stepped back to check the young Fae's expression. When she realised her High Lady was not joking, her eyes widened, putting her large, green irises on display. However, the woman composed herself, taking a small breath.

"A feud with the Spring Court would not be fitting," she commented, hands now laced behind her curvy back. "Did you kill them?"

"I have no need to start a war with the Spring Court," Aelienora replied coolly, staring at the intricate pattern on the high doors leading out. "So I did not kill them."

She heard her advisor breathe a small sigh of relief.

"However," she countered, sparing a small glance towards her direction. "I did promise them pain should they dare return upon our lands."

Oriana nodded patiently. "Very well, my Lady."

So they stayed silent for a while, Oriana taking her position near the throne, Aelienora rigidly sitting on said throne, awaiting any news from the Night Court for arrangements. Everyone knew the Night Court worked quickly, so they expected it to be true. Suddenly, Aelienora began to wonder the outcomes of this alliance. Strong fighters. A good peace treaty and defending hand during war. A possible alliance with one of the most powerful High Lords in history-

Her thoughts were interrupted when the doors flung open, one of her messengers shuffling in. He stopped just at the edge of the dais, giving a deep bow, before he stood. He seemed to be out of breath, like he'd been running, and his thick hood was slightly ruffled. The messenger puffed a few times, before glancing up at the High Lady sitting in front of him.

"Tell me, messenger," Aelienora drawled, thick lashes flattering as she blinked. "What news do you bring to me?"

The messenger seemed to wince, then stood ramrod straight. "The High Lord of the Spring Court requests a meeting with you. Soon. In an hour, actually."

Aelienora's eyes narrowed by a fraction, however her piercing eyes still strongly visible. Irritation laced her voice. "Why was I not informed of this sooner?"

"I have just returned from the borders of the Autumn Court, my Lady," the messenger wheezed, holding a grubby hand to his chest. "A messenger from the Spring Court had intercepted me along the way."

The High Lady closed her eyes, trying not to pierce the messenger's heart here and now. She did not need any blood on the floors now, nor did she want an elder to pass. He was to train the young ones. She gave a deep, tired sigh, before opening her eyes again.

"Very well," she said, her voice emotionless. "He shall have his meeting. Did he specify where it would be held?"

The messenger lowered his hand, along with his furry hood. "He requests of you to enter the premises of the Spring Court within an hour. He also said," he added cautiously. "That he feels you know what this meeting may be about."

Aelienora stood abruptly from her seat, making the chubby messenger flinch violently. "Yes," she said. "That I do."

She glanced down at the whimpering messenger in front of her lean, but toned physique.

"Let him know that he better be prepared."

* * *

 **Ok, so that's chapter 2! Sorry it's a bit shorter, I was low on time!**

 **Follow, fave and review for more chapters! Love you all!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys!**

 **Upon high request and my will to write, I have returned with another chapter!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Within a moment's short notice, Aelionora had gathered some of her best guards, then immediately winnowed to the Spring Court. Had she been any younger or had her father not been killed yet, she would've whined and complained at the absolute atrocity and uselessness of this meeting. But now, her mind had been dulled down to her orders as a High Lady, and she'd rather obey those. They make her seem more powerful and occasionally tend to intimidate people.

From the cold, snowy grounds, the small group appeared in the lush, green fields of the Spring Court. Before them stood the High Lord's manor, in its full glory as it had been peppered with flowers and rose bushes. But as Aelionora squinted, she noticed something beneath that beauty; it looked and had the feel of a prison. It made her sigh, and she finally believed the two people from the Night Court properly. It was comforting to know that she had just defended a greater good.

In quick-paced and regal strides, she began walking towards the gates, to see that Tamlin _and_ Lucien were both standing outside, expecting them. Some surprise flashed over Tamlin's eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a mask of calm Aelionora _knew_ was hiding a storm.

"Welcome to the Spring Court, m'lady," Tamlin began in his usual confident strut. He opened the gates, gesturing for them to pass through. "We are so glad you could make it."

Aelionora didn't particularly feel the same about that situation, but stayed quiet. Instead, she just nodded mutely, a quick jerk of the head, and ignored the lumbering position Lucien was currently upholding. After a pregnant silence, Tamlin gave a warm smile. "Come. Step inside."

She could easily depict the fake smile he gave her, where, underneath the layers or also completely-faked toughness, he oozed of desperation. It partially disgusted her, a High Lord stooping so low. But she did as instructed, her guards following her in single file. She was met with a beautiful and simple hallway, and she turned on her heel with one raised eyebrow.

"Well?" She asked, her tone rather unimpressed in her own ears. Good. Let him feel shame. Shame for not just inviting her on such short notice, but shame for all the bad things that have been rumoured to have been done by Tamlin. Either way. "Is there a reason you called me for this? I'm not a genie, you know. I don't usually arrive on people's commands."

Tamlin looked somewhat taken aback, but then also slipped into his High Lord demeanour. "I wish to know why my bride was in your lands with an uncouth and-"

" _Your_ bride?" Aelionora hissed, blueish-white eyes narrowing deeply in anger. "From what I've heard, you haven't been treating your bride too well, and most in Prythian can guess why."

Now _that_ did take the High Lord of the Spring Court aback, and he looked hesitant as he said, "I- I do not know what you are speaking of-"

"I wasn't finished," she snapped, holding a lithe hand up as she glared a bit at the High Lord. "It is enough to just summon a High Lady into a court rarely dealt with, but it is just _rude_ to think I'll be giving away my business," she stopped to also glower at Lucien, before continuing, "I have no troubles with your court, and you know that. Do _not_ expect me to answer any of these questions."

"I am the High Lord of the Spring Court," Tamlin snarled, mouth raised in a sneer. "Do not command me to answer to you. I brought you here for a reason. Now _tell me_."

Aelionora stopped, cold rage simmering in her pupils. Her body went taut like a wire, and with slow, and deliberately feline steps, she graced forward until she was face to face with the disgusting man in front of her. Icicles grew on her fingers and frost spread across the cheeks of her skin, so cold that Tamlin could feel it. When she felt she was close enough to truly intimidate the High Lord of the Spring Court, she spoke.

"I will not bow down to the demands of a childish fool who has yet to reign in his emotions," she breathed, voice murderously calm. "I do not need to meddle with your court's idiocy or selfishness."

With that, she quickly paced to the front door, but it slammed shut. That angered her even more. Her head whipped around, eyes locking with Tamlin's. Her guards shifted closer to her, and she reigned herself in.

"Oh, and Tamlin?" She said, fake innocence covering her voice. Then, a small, vicious smirk graced her delicate features. "You should not dare to insult someone working with the most powerful High Lord and mate in Prythian."

And with that final statement, she winnowed away.

* * *

And so Aelionora winnowed right to her home court, and halted as she saw both High Lord and Lady from the Night Court. They looked a mix between concerned, angered, and flummoxed, so when she arrived, both their eyes immediately scoured her.

Before she could open her mouth, Feyre beat her to it. "We heard you went to the Spring Court."

Well, that made a lot of sense. They were seeking to know whether she betrayed them. And if she would ever say, she'd admit it was a smart move to have word spread to them. So without missing a beat, she replied, "That I did."

This gained a response of a low growl from Feyre and an arched eyebrow from Rhysand. After a moment of slightly stunned silence, he spoke. "And what seems to be your business in those grounds?"

Aelionora softly rolled her eyes, then said, "I have no business with those scums. Tamlin is a childish, incoherent fool whose greed for power will be the thing that strikes him dead one day. Thank the Cauldron you left that man."

Rhys snorted, while Feyre looked somewhat shocked. "You mean... you didn't tell him you would join his side or something?"

Aelionora shook her head in disagreement, then glanced at them somewhat questioningly. "Is there some specific reason you two have returned to my grounds?"

Rhys nodded, his professionally charming demeanour slipping right in. "Yes," he drawled, tracing circles over Feyre's wrists to calm her somehow. "We have come to invite you to a place treasured very much by the both of us."

The Winter Lady's expression did not change, nor did her posture, but she did glance at both of the people in front of her quickly. But, she stayed still, a clear sign for the two in front of her to continue speaking. Rhys took a small breath, and Feyre tensed a bit. They were communicating down their mental bonds, but Aelionora could obviously not know that. Either way, after quick rushed words of Feyre calling Rhysand an 'oaf', saying things like 'are you sure?' and a streak of curse words that could make a troll feel flustered, Rhysand righted himself again.

"We wish to show you Velaris."

That was it. That was all Rhysand revealed. Feyre also said nothing, and Aelionora arched an eyebrow slightly. But it seemed that Velaris was a big deal, and with them being her new ally, she figured that this was important and she was trusted enough to see said 'Velaris'. So after slight uncharacteristic hesitation, she simply nodded. "Very well," she said. "Show me then. I took the wards down. We can winnow."

Both nodded, and they stepped forward invitingly. Feyre glanced at Aelionora. "Are you sure you have time? I told Rhysand we could come later-"

"I have plenty of time," Aelionora reassured Feyre with care, then nodded as she looked expectantly. "Well, let's go to Velaris, then."

And so, Feyre grasped Aelionora's snow-pale wrist and winnowed them away.

* * *

 **Well, that was it for now!**

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